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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194395">Sweet Tea and Milkshakes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CD_Radio/pseuds/CD_Radio'>CD_Radio</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Nightmare on Elm Street (Movies 1984-1994), House of 1000 Corpses (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Humor, Gen, Roadtrip, Salt and pepper diner, back at it again with self indulgent fics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:06:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CD_Radio/pseuds/CD_Radio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The imp turned around, eyeing the glowing music box at the end of the diner, there was a sign above it that he didn’t notice earlier. </p><p>Three songs for a dollar. </p><p>A devilishly mischievous grin grew on his face.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Freddy Krueger &amp; Cutter Johns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Tea and Milkshakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH MY BULL, SHOUT OUT FOR CARLING FOR OPENING THE DOORS TO THIS SHIP. WE LOVE GAY OLD MEN BEING GAY OLD MEN!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Coarse dirt dusted the exterior of the red 1958 Plymouth Fury that blazed through the long, open road of Louisville, Kentucky. Freddy decided to take over driving duty since his partner in crime had been driving since dawn and the longer the old bastard stayed awake, the grumpier he seemed to get, which was no fun for either of the two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So there he was, listening to classic rock n roll on the radio as the mid-afternoon sun shone against the windshield, one arm out of the window, lazily swaying to the wind and one hand on the steering wheel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes began to hurt from staring at the road for hours and his hips ached from sitting down for too long, there should be a pit stop nearby, there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> a pit stop on these kinds of roads. Be it fancy looking strip malls that looked out of place in an empty field to actual gas stops with local convenient stores beside them to a poor excuse for a food stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And just his luck, he saw the telltale sign of a stop up ahead. The tall pillar being covered with vacancy signs and restaurant names along with one gas station brand. He sped up unexpectedly, wanting to go out and stretch his long legs and maybe grab something to eat. They haven’t had anything since lunch yesterday and Freddy was not going to wait until dinner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Swerving his way to an open parking space, managing to impressively parallel park as the car skidded to a stop, bringing his snoring companion to a panicked snort as he woke up, hitting his head on the windshield as he did so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Krueger!?” Cutter held his head between two hands, already pissed off and he just woke up. That’s a new record.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pit stop, come on.” Freddy was already out the door by the time he finished talking, running towards the restaurant closest to them.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a 50s-themed diner, complete with checkerboard patterned floors, a red tacky bar, and a few booths by the walls. It was familiar for Freddy, seeing as he used to work in a place like this, though, his old workplace smelled a lot more of nicotine and gasoline, this place smelled cleaner, crisper. He found himself brightening up when he saw a vintage jukebox near the back booth, playing Joan Jett’s iconic “I Love Rock n Roll”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. Oh, he was going to have fun with that little thing later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You gonna order or what.” The deep, southern voice behind him sounded annoyed. Yeah, he definitely needed more sleep. Or a snack.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Walking up to the counter, peering up the menu board above the cashier. Something heavy, he decided. A meal that’ll probably last in their gut until their next stop, which was hours away.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll have the boneless chicken tenders and a bottomless chocolate milksha-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Boneless? What are ya, a heathen?” Ironic coming from someone like Cutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spaulding I am not getting my fingers covered in chicken grease and sauce.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“The flavor is all in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>bone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re gonna be eating nothing but bland white meat!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Why do you care? It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>meal!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Like fucking hell it is, you brat, we’re on a budget.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Bu-What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> we’re on a budget!? We still have cash leftover from last night!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>As the two bickered on, the cashier watched them with bored eyes, chewing her gum as she laid her head on her hand, resting her arms on the counter. She’s seen people like this come here a dozen times, she would bet her lousy monthly salary that, within ten minutes, they’re going to just split a basket and order separate drinks. That’s what most couples tend to do anyway, especially old grumpy ones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine! We’ll split a basket then!” The younger of the two huffed.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bingo.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two made their way to the empty booth closest to the door (which wasn’t as close as they liked it to be), fighting over who got to sit looking at the entrance, both used to being the one who had the bigger sight advantage. It was decided since Cutter’s eyesight wasn’t as good as they used to be (something Freddy would tease him for whenever he was trying to read the map, saying he didn’t need a GPS), that the demon would be the one sitting across the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The imp turned around, eyeing the glowing music box at the end of the diner, there was a sign above it that he didn’t notice earlier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Three songs for a dollar. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A devilishly mischievous grin grew on his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cutter, give me seven bucks.”  He turned back only to see the older man give him the most exhausted and deadpan look he’s ever seen yet. The simplest way to describe it was to say that he looked done.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now I don’t fucking know where the shit you got the idea that I would hand you </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> money.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Awww, come on Cutter!” the demon whined, “I just wanna play a song on the juke! Don’t be such an old fart.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Cutter raised an eyebrow with that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how hard inflation hit since I was alive but there ain’t no piss drinking way that a song costs seven fucking dollars.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Freddy groaned, not unlike a child, already tired of the conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine, come pick a song with me then.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span></span><br/>

  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Twenty What’s New Pussycat. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s Not Unusual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cutter should not be amused with the low-level prank but the moment the second repeat of the initial song hit, he was already smiling a shit-eating grin. Freddy, himself, was watching the other patrons, trying to see if any of them noticed yet. He spotted one man, who sat at the booth they wanted before, the one that was by the door, looking confused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That made him perk up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead of tapping Cutter, who was trying to read the newspaper he asked from the counter, to get his attention, he grabbed a straw from the stack near their table condiments. Ripping one side of its wrapper, he put the bare straw to his lips and blew, hitting the old clown square in the forehead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The older man just waved his hand, as if trying to swat the dream imp away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the fourth repeat of the song, Cutter was joining in on Freddy’s immature fun, balling up whatever straw wrapper made its way to him and throwing it at the younger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the fifth repeat, Cutter finally saw what Freddy was trying to gesture to him, their table already littered with balled up wrappers and napkins, their order running a bit late. He saw the man hunched over and shaking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two trying their best to sniffle their laughter unless they wanted their fun to end early.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until the sixth repeat that they felt like they were going to suffocate. The moment the last repeat ended, the entire diner felt the tension as they awaited the next song. When the intro began to play, the man slammed his mug on the table, yelling obscenities and spilling coffee everywhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Freddy was smacking Cutter’s arm and Cutter was trying to get him to stop, both had their faces turning pink from the stifled laughter, the clown trying to shush the damned sitting across him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A young lady came up to them, tray in hand, filled with a basket of chicken, a plate of fries, and two strikingly different drinks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for the wait, gentlemen, our cook was a bit...Uh...busy.” Her side-eye to the jukebox was not subtle. The two men assured her it was no problem, smiling at the food she had placed before them. Freddy made a snatch for the milkshake before she could even put it down, taking a big sip of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Enjoy your meal, and congrats for coming out, you two make a lovely couple!” She smiled softly at them, a twinkle of envy in her eyes as she walked away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The comment had Freddy choking on his milkshake, the drink making its way and out his nose as Cutter had a literal knee jerk reaction to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The universe decided that that was the perfect time to play It’s Not Unusual for them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the meal was eaten in quiet awkwardness… that was until What’s Up Pussycat began playing again and the angry man from the front flipped the table. Literally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when that happened, they lost it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After their tasks were done, maybe they could visit this place, and hopefully, the jukebox would still be here.</span>
</p><p> </p>
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